


The Sands of Tattooine

by Khelkhet



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2018-04-02 08:59:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4054204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khelkhet/pseuds/Khelkhet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jedi Master Darnell Othone has agreed to a training exercise with the troublesome Sith who's been passive aggressively inserting herself into his life for several weeks now. </p>
<p>Kheli hates Tattooine. The sand, the wind, the people...And the memories.</p>
<p>Naturally, that's where Master Othone wishes to train, but what lessons does the Jedi really have in mind to teach this troubled Sith?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Khel, Kheli and Khelkhet are all mine.
> 
> Othone belongs to his player, Adrala to his, and Fenrin to his. You no touchie.
> 
> A fanfiction-ised telling of roleplay from the Star Wars - The Old Republic. 
> 
> Unbeta'd, not spellchecked or inspected for grammar fuckups.

Tatooine was among the top three places Khel had decided was the ‘single and worst’ planet ever to be conceived. Endless grains of sand that never seemed to stay still and found their ways into uncomfortable places no matter what you wore; spontaneous sand storms that could turn an ordinary dreary, brown, oppressively hot day into a biting, stinging and very dangerous one. Then of course were the sand people. There was just nothing to be said about the likes of _them_ that could accurately describe her dislike of everything about them.

Yet Tatooine was their destination because Master Othone had said it was. A training exercise, he’d told her, and she’d assumed it to be some sort of ‘tolerating the impossibly intolerable’ Jedi nonsense. She’d given her word she’d do what he asked, though. _Obey_. Khel wasn’t particularly fond of obeying anyone, anywhere, for any reason whatsoever, but for him she’d make an exception.

Because finally, after what seemed like endless weeks of nagging and pestering and poorly veiled insults and jibes, he’d said ‘yes’. It had taken the interference of Darth Tichorius to push the Jedi over the edge. At least Khel assumed he had been the final straw. Othone was not about to clarify.

The actual flight to Tatooine had been long and without incident. Master Othone’s ship was as appropriately boring and unworthy of note as she’d anticipated. There was nothing in the realm of personalisation, everything was where it should be. While he busied himself at the helm she’d explored the area of the ship he’d allowed her access to, looking for something—anything—in which to snoop. She found nothing. Boring. She’d rather hoped seeing his personal starship would give her more insight into the man. In a way it did; Darnell Othone was as boring as the endless brown landscape of Tatooine and twice as dry.

She felt the ship drop from light speed minutes before the droid notified her. She’d thanked him politely, and he’d clearly been startled.

He had been uttering nonsense about his disapproval of a Sith being aboard the ship at all for the first leg of their journey, even going so far as to avoid her and, at one point when she’d asked for something to eat, had pleaded with her not to destroy him if he didn’t return with it quickly enough. With Othone elsewhere on the ship, she’d played the part of ‘evil Sith’ with the droid, glaring and sneering when she made her ‘requests’, which otherwise had been worded politely. It had been fun at first to torment him, but as the ship was guided to the landing coordinates and she expressed appreciation for his service—sincere appreciation; he had kept her from going stark raving mad from boredom, after all—he’d sputtered a bit and responded, “Well!” and watched her disembark with Master Othone, “You are quite welcome!”


	2. The Compound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Khel and Othone arrive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-everything'd, as usual. May be subject to editing.

The landing area at the coordinates Othone had chosen wasn’t far from the marketplace for the compound. Merchants peddling their wares scuttled about like insects, persons browsing meandered through the stalls. Armed guards had formed a perimeter around the entire compound, marked with bands and armor that suggested they were freelance mercs. These things combined suggested wealth was hardly an issue.

                For her part, Khel had descended the shuttle a few steps behind her Jedi companion, with little enthusiasm. Training exercise or not, she didn’t care for Tatooine. It wasn’t just the sand. How long had it been since she’d come to this planet to train in another skill, and left a trail of death in her wake?

                Master Othone began to walk toward the gathered merchants not far from the shuttlepad, “Does this place seem familiar?” he asked.

                He had a habit of being able to speak without giving much in the way of inflection. He almost always seemed smug. It annoyed Khel to no end. “Besides the ugly-as-sin, endless and itchy sand, too hot to be humane desert? Tatooine looks the same no matter where you are: brown.” She grumbled in response. She hadn’t been paying attention, afterall. She had trusted the Jedi not to land her in the middle of a Republic base, or worse. When he said nothing—another annoying habit of his; not playing along with her word-games and intentional jabs and attempts to get him to lose his temper—she sighed exaggeratedly and took in her surroundings.

                At first she found herself about to huff an impatient ‘No’ at the Jedi ; this horrible planet really did all look the same to her. Even the people tended to dress the same and since the population seemed to be heavily human, they all looked the same too.  The buildings, though, and the layout—it struck a cord. There was a familiar and almost sharp pain in her chest.

                “You said we were going to train.” She managed, though her voice sounded distant, even to her. She wasn’t seeing Master Othone now; she was recalling those moments from a week ago when she’d left her friend’s corpse to rot in the sand not a hundred feet from where they now stood.

                “Mhm.” Was the Jedi’s response. “We are. So walk me through what happened.”

                Khel felt her guilt turn to anger and betrayal in an instant. She turned on him and glared, “You want me to relive Adrala’s murder for your twisted entertainment, is that it?”

                There wasn’t time for a reply from the Jedi, however. Approaching from the north a group of the mercenaries had raised their rifles to set them upon the Pureblood and her companion, but their voices were aimed at her. “Hands up! You,” he sneered, “I remember you. You attacked the overseer of this compound!”

                Khel groaned a little; had Othone even considered that she was recognizable? It was unlikely that he wouldn’t plan for such a thing, and a horrible thought came to mind even as her fingers snatched up her lightsaber, “You’d better not be thinking of turning me over to them,” she challenged in disbelief.

                Othone simply moved his hand from left to right, “There’s no need for alarm,” he answered the merc who had spoken, “We are not a threat.”

                Whether the attempt worked or not, they hadn’t time to see; the growing sea of men seeming intent upon taking Khel into custody began to part from the back to the front, and when the front line separated it was to let through a specific  and noteworthy man.

                Adrala Palak crossed his arms over his armored chestplate and stared at the two, “You aren’t a threat unless you get near that damned statue, apparently.”

                Othone seemed unmoved by the dramatic entrance. “Hello,” he greeted simply.

                Khel did not greet Adrala; instead she actually choked, and the anger and itch of suspicion and grief gave way to confusion and relief when she recognized the man and explained for Othone, “Adrala Palak. Not dead.”

                “Apparently not,” Agreed the Jedi, “A pleasure to meet you, Sir Palak.”

                Adrama grinned dryly, “Not even _remotely_ dead,” he agreed, “I sincerely hope you don’t have any plans to choke me again, Kheli.” He greeted the Jedi with a nod, “Why are the two of you here? Nothing out here of worth to the Jedi.”

                “We’re looking for this statue of yours.” Othone replied in his stoic, simple way.

                “Adrala, this is Master Othone, a particularly cruel man, and he helped save me that day.” That day; the day she’d _killed_ Adrala. That day that had led to several days, once the taint had dissipated, of misery and guilt. “How, Adrala? I saw you die, I remembered for days how it felt to drop your corpse to the ground.” She sighed, forcing those thoughts from her mind. He was alive now. “I’ve relived it a hundred times.”

                Adrala rolled a shoulder in what may have been a shrug, “You didn’t exactly stick around long enough to make sure. It isn’t the first time a Force User’s choked me out.

“Oh, well I was in a bit of a hurry at the time, it seems, to indecently molest one friend and try to kill the other.” Khel snorted; truth be told, she wasn’t altogether sure what she was thinking at the time. Even now, it was still hazy what had been going through her mind at the time. “If I’d known you were still alive, I’d have come back.”

“I know.” Adrala said with a sincere nod. He set his gaze upon the Jedi, “As for the statue, I’d suggest just destroying it, considering what it did to her.” He gestured toward Khel.

                “That is the plan, if it cannot be safely removed.” Othone nodded.

                “I’ve been trying to acquire some baradium charges,” Adrala noted, “So we can load it onto a shuttle, take it out to the dune sea and dispose of it.”

                “Just don’t touch it,” Khel grumbled softly, “It called to me. I hurt people. If it got hold of you…” The thought of Othone going on a similar, even if temporary dark path was dreadful. He was far more dangerous than she had judged herself to be, and she’d still managed to leave a trail of destruction and death behind.

                Perhaps her emotion had been too obvious; “Do you need to hang back, Miss Kheli?”

                Khel’s reply was defensive, “You mean am I pissing myself in fear and do I need the big, strong Jedi to protect me? No,” she snarled, “I’m fine. I want to see it. I want to witness its destruction.”

                The Jedi watched her for only a few seconds, though to her it felt like much longer. “Very well,” he granted, giving away nothing of his thoughts. “Then let’s see it.”


End file.
